


FicTober 2019

by Soobiebear



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Bondage, Drunk Driving, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-22 22:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 14,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soobiebear/pseuds/Soobiebear
Summary: My attempt at the Fictober 2019 challenges, each day a new chapter.  This years challenge was quotes.  Small fics, not beta-ed, but enough to get me writing and posting every day.  Some are gen, most are slash.  Parings and warnings vary but will be tagged.





	1. “It will be fun, trust me.”

1\. “It will be fun, trust me.”

“C’mon, James, it will be fun, trust me.” They’d written in the time for various teenage car gymnastics without explaining it to James, knowing he would never be a part of it with advance knowledge.

James rolled his eyes, ready to dribble on about safety and arthritis and small cars.

Richard popped the vintage camcorder back on his shoulder and pressed record once again, the tape whirring next to his ear.

“Literally, what could go wrong?” They’d made the mistake of letting James end up in the driving seat, leaving him in control of the ancient hot hatch as Jeremy and Richard pleaded. “Just go steady, keep it straight, and I can lap across the roof.”

James looked suspiciously at the hand crank windows, realizing he was in Jeremy’s direct path.

“After he does the lap, we can do a fire drill.” Richard was bouncing in his seat, ecstatic to be re-hashing his teenage years on camera.

“If that’s what you two did in cars as teenagers, I feel sorry for you.” James leered at Jeremy, dropping the clutch and bouncing into first.


	2. 2. “Just follow me, I know the area.”

2\. “Just follow me, I know the area.”

They’d packed into James’ little Panda, Jeremy next to him and Richard listing to the side in the backseat. James was far from sober, but was able to drive through it the best. It wasn’t far from Studio Centre to Hammersmith - supposedly a straight run south according to James.

“Are we there yet?” Richard put his hand over his mouth and pushed against the door, straightening up and looking decidedly green.

“Just follow me, I know the area.”

“James, we’re in the car with you.” Jeremy held on for dear life as bicyclists and buses appeared doubled before his eyes suddenly, almost landing on the sloped bonnet of the Panda.

“Right, not much further.” James made a rather sharp right hand turn that sent Richard into the opposite door.

“Steady on, man.” Richard adjusted his jacket and noticed the street signs.

Jeremy managed to focus on the same sign as Hammond. Broad as a billboard, one couldn’t miss it. “James...” he said carefully. “Why are we in Wembley?”

“Wem...?” James blinked and squinted through the drunkenness. “Oh cock.”


	3. 3. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

3\. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

Jeremy’s phone rang while he was bicycling up the mountain again in search of a beer. He worked it out so that while he was on sabbatical, if he exercised enough by bicycling to the bar he earned his beer. If he stayed at the hotel it was water.

He was so well hydrated he was surprised the only place it was coming out was his penis.

Jeremy pulled over to the side of the small road and tried to hide between trees when his mobile phone rang in his pocket. If a lorry came rumbling past he’d have a better chance of not being hit. “Hello?” he wheezed into the phone, wishing they had called on the ride down.

“It’s May.” Jeremy looked to the heavens for help. A phone call with James earned him a second beer. “Need some advice.”

Jeremy pulled his helmet off and sat back on the bike seat. “I’m in the middle of the jungle in Vietnam.”

“Yes, but it’s important. Can you talk for a few minutes?” James sounded tense or distressed, not normally something he heard from his friend.

“Hang on, just let me...” Jeremy dismounted his bike and pulled it even further off the road. Despite the bickering James really was a good friend. Hammond too, even if they both annoyed him horribly. “Ok, I’m off the road now.” Without the sweat guard on his helmet, the heavy air was already making him break out. The breeze from the bike had been doing more than he thought.

“Can you facetime? Need to show you something.”

Jeremy hit the button and James’ craggly face appeared, looking feverish. Was he ill? “Are you alright?” he asked, instantly jumping to worst case scenarios. 

“Fine, just needed your opinion.” James’ eyes moved over the screen, and Jeremy could see him press buttons on the phone before the image jumped, going to front camera.

It was James’ bedroom and his shambolic Ikea bed. James moved the phone up from the floor and Richard was naked on his bed, wrists tied to the headboard and feet in a spreader bar. Jeremy saw the heavy looking strip of cloth over his eyes and the ballgag in his mouth, watching as Richard’s chest heaved with every ragged breath.

“So I listened to you and finally did it.” James moved closer and Jeremy could make out finer details. The same red cloth bound him to the bed and was around his face. “Richard, don’t be rude and say hello to Jeremy.”

James moved the camera closer to Richard. Jeremy heard his muffled voice and watched as his lips stretched around the ball and his tongue tried to push it out. 

“Hmmmmmh,” James sighed. “Rude.” Finger tips landed on Richard’s collarbones and traced a quick path down his stomach. Jeremy had a good view of his flaccid cock against his pubic hair. “Don’t worry, he’s already come twice today.” The same fingers continued down Hammond’s toned leg, reaching the spreader bar and picking it up. “I just don’t know about this.” James lifted the bar again, causing Richard’s legs to lift into the air. “It might be better to tie him to the footboard.” James let the bar drop to the mattress, Hammond’s legs bouncing as they fell. “But if I tie him, I can’t turn him over.” James pulled the camera back again, giving Jeremy a better view. “Can’t decide what to do.”

Jeremy had already moved himself behind on of the larger palm trees, rubbing at himself through his athletic shorts. “Now? Now you listen to me?” They’d talked about it years ago and Jeremy assumed James had forgotten or completely nixed the idea. It was cruel, now that he was so far away and not able to join them.

James lifted the bar and Richard’s legs again, the camera jerking bouncily as James climbed on the bed. “What do you think Hammond, since Jeremy isn’t much help.” James pushed Hammond’s legs up higher as he protested. “Hold,” James said simply, releasing the bar as Richard struggled to keep his legs in the air. James panned down over Richard again, everything on display. James squirted some lube over himself and Richard, then used his free hand to guide himself behind Richard’s testicles.

James stilled then started to push as the call was cut, leaving Jeremy staring at his homescreen. His cock throbbed in his hand despite the lack of visual material and he knew it would be a painful ride to the bar even if he did get his erection to go away. Fuck James, fuck him and his sadistic, evil tendencies.

Jeremy tucked his cock back under his waistband and cycled slowly up the mountain to the bar, gritting his teeth every time his legs pulled his cock against the elastic waistband.


	4. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

4\. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

The crew towed the Audi TT off the set and promptly scattered, no doubt influenced by the crisp notes Jeremy had bribed them with earlier. Richard was still suspended in the bumper, tied securely with the orange nylon tow rope. 

“Hello, Hammond,” James said as he pulled on a pair of latex medical gloves, bending down to look at his prey.

“James, fuck, get me out of here.” They’d made their point. While uncomfortable it was possible to smuggle someone like this without being seen. His starched shirt was starting to itch and his jeans were chafing badly as the straps pulled at him. “The joke’s over.”

James moved out of sight again. Richard listened carefully as one of the back doors opened and the back seat was lowered. He could almost turn his head enough to see through the dropped seat. “Hmmm... Don’t think I will.”

Hands grabbed at his belt and pulled, forcing the tight denim over slim hips and down tense thighs.

“I know you didn’t ask for this.” Jeremy was leaning down now, bending over and calling Richard’s attention away from what James was doing.

Richard struggled against his bindings. “Get me out of here.”

Something started buzzing behind him. Richard was unable to turn and see, instead looking to Jeremy fearfully. “Just relax.” Jeremy reached out and petted Richard’s hair, nodding at James as he crouched in the back seat.


	5. “I might just kiss you.”

5\. “I might just kiss you.”

Richard leaned his head over the edge of his bunk again, drunk and still keyed up from partying on the boat. “Can’t sleep,” he said, watching as James’ eyes moved before opening.

The cameras were off and it was just the two of them, stuck together in the smallest bunkroom the BBC would pay out for. “Try counting sheep.” James’ eyes closed as quickly as they had opened.

“Tried that. Got to forty two before I woke you.” The cold of the sea cut through the ship’s hull and even with his sweaters and blanket he was still chilled. “Don’t think I can sleep with all this rocking.”

James looked different from above. His face squared up and his nose became more aquiline. Richard noticed his lips parting before words came out. “Do you need a bedtime story?”

Richard grinned. James’ posh voice was oddly soothing and would have him sleeping in no time. “Yes.”

James stirred in his bunk, glaring up at Richard from his pillow. “Once upon a time...” Richard giggled and James glared harder. “There was a twee munchkin named Richard. He was a fighty midget, prone to nipping at ankles and swearing inappropriately.” 

“That’s me,” he grinned, letting James take the piss.

“One day, he was being especially annoying but was stuck with his older and much wiser traveling companion. And when it was time for bed young Richard wouldn’t sleep, so James had to bludgeon him to death and spend the rest of the night trying to fit his corpse out the teeny, tiny porthole.”

“That was wonderful. Do you know any more?” He expected to get hit with a pillow or for James to reach one of his long legs up and kick at the underside of his bunk.

“Fuck’s sake Hammond. Have a wank and go to sleep like the rest of us.”

Richard looked over James’ face as the light from said porthole hit the highpoints of his forehead and cheeks. “Were you wanking?” It was too dark to see further down the bunk.

“Go to sleep.”

The dinner and drinks and dancing had lead his body to expect something else this evening. Richard chewed at his lip before he grabbed onto the edge of his bunk and carefully swung himself over on the trough of a wave. “Budge over. Both of us can fit.” James glared again, staring at him, calculating, before finally sliding his hips closer to the bulkhead. “I might just kiss you.”

“Brave now that you’re not on camera.” Richard lifted the scratchy wool blanket and climbed in the lower, occupied, bunk.


	6. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

6\. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

Richard finally managed to get Jeremy alone for a long overdue talk. Season two was going swimmingly now that Dawe was out and May was in. Perhaps they should have listened to Clarkson about the casting from the beginning.

“I think James fancies you.”

Jeremy didn’t even set down the paper he was reading. “Don’t blame him. I’m irresistible.”

“No, I think he really, really fancies you. Seriously.”

Clarkson lowered his paper, considering Richard for a moment and catching him with that laser sharp focus that sliced through lesser men. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

“Well,” Richard started. He had expected Jeremy to panic or disagree, not acknowledge May’s attentions. “It could become a problem.”

The paper ruffled and Jeremy went back to reading his article. “Shan’t.”

He didn’t believe Jeremy’s easy dismissal of something that could easily take down the show before they’d even gotten started. “I thought you didn’t like homosexuals.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

Richard stared. “From everything you’ve ever said ever.”

“I don’t mind homosexualists. They’re quite good at gardening. Home interiors. Theatre productions.”

“Jeremy! You can’t say that!” Richard was more tempered about non-traditional relationships than the older set, even though it still wasn’t something casually accepted in Birmingham.

“Sometimes they’re good at presenting car shows.” Richard couldn’t argue that point. James had immediately fallen into the spot left by Jason and ran with it, rounding out the new trio with impeccable timing and a dry sense of humor. “Sometimes they’re really good at blowjobs.”

“Aye?” Richard’s head twisted off with how fast it spun. Jeremy was still hidden behind his newspaper. 

“It’s all about finding the talent in everyone.” Jeremy turned the page and sniffled. “Did you see than Den Watts is coming back to EastEnders?”


	7. Prompt #7

7\. “No, and that’s final.”

“Can I drive it? Can I drive it? Can I drive it?” Richard bounced around James in excitement. 

“No.” James was organizing his peg hooks before they left, making room on the board for the new car keys he’d be picking up shortly.

Hammond loved Ferraris as much as he loved Porches and especially Ferrari's he would have frequent access to. “Awww, C’mon James, just around the block. Just a mile. Let me sit in the seat and put my feet on the pedals.”

“I’m not bringing a phone book nor blocks with me.”

Richard frowned for a moment, but was too hyped up by the news that James’ new 458 Speciale had been delivered. “Can I drive it?”

“No, and that’s final.” James had a peg cleared, shifting the Porsche keys to sit with the old Corniche.

“But can I drive it?” Hammond grinned as he wore James down, big smile and eyes on display, using every trick he knew.

“If I say yes, will you calm down?” James looked exasperated, and Richard knew he had won.

“No.” Richard smiled even bigger, still bouncing, still excited beyond belief.

“Remind me never to reproduce,” James moaned, rubbing at his temple.

Richard waited a beat to be super annoying. “So, can I drive it?”


	8. Prompt #8

8\. “Can you stay?”

Jeremy watched James worry his pack of Marlboros across the aisle. The flight back was long and the thin cardboard was already smashed and torn, small sections ripping off as James bent the packaging back and forth.

“I really need a cigarette.” He had been pondering sneaking off to the lavvy and having an illegal smoke in the toilet. They were unlikely to push him out over the Atlantic and whatever they did to him when they landed wouldn’t be as bad as what he already lived through.

“You can’t smoke in an airplane.”

“I know.” They were all a mess, running from the hotel and hastily being thrown upon a flight out. Crew and equipment and luggage still somewhere between Argentina and the airport. “Don’t care.”

News must not have spread as the British flight crew treated them well and the other passengers ignored them. “It’s only a few more hours.” Jeremy made to check his watch until he remembered it was broken. Smashed by a thrown rock, the Omega could be repaired after taking the impact for his wrist. He didn’t mention the large wall of press already gathering near the gate at Heathrow. 

Hours. Days. They’d spent days in the hotel room watching hours turn into days. James felt his anxiety hitch up again. He was trapped in the small room, unable to get out, only able to see what was going on outside the window through a small part in the curtains.

Jeremy held a beer in front of James, steady hand on his shoulder to calm him. The cigarettes were well crushed now and his hands were cramped from white knuckling around the armrests. “Drink,” Jeremy encouraged. Usually he’d force a sleeping pill on James when he got like this, but they had nothing and Jeremy couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this poorly. “We’ll be home soon.”

James looked curiously at the flat lager, carefully sipping at the plastic cup. He took a bigger sip at the soothing cold and familiar flavor. “Can you stay?” he asked, voice shaky and vulnerable. “With me?”

He gripped the stooped shoulder and squeezed, the closest he could get to a hug in public. “Yes.”


	9. “There is a certain taste to it.”

James helped him down to his knees, landing on the hastily acquired pillow. Jeremy looked befuddled, aroused as hell but scared as a naked Richard sat on the sofa in front of him. 

Jeremy looked up at Richard and then over at James, nervous hands not quite touching Hammond’s legs. ”What do I do?”

“Whatever you want.” James crushed his cigarette out in a small ashtray. “Lick his stomach, pinch a nipple. He likes everything.” James knelt down next to Jeremy, outside of Hammond’s still healing knee. “Probably what you like is what most men like, so do that.”

Jeremy eyed Hammond’s cock, knowing at some point he would have to do something with it. James followed Jeremy’s gaze and knew why he hesitated. “There is a certain taste to it.” James heaved himself forward onto the couch, carefully avoiding Richard’s knee. He twisted and managed to bring his mouth near Hammond’s cock. “Not bad, actually.”

Jeremy watched up close as James parted his lips and sucked Richard’s cock into his mouth. Richard whined as James backed off after barely getting the head past his lips.

“Go on, then. You try,” James encouraged.


	10. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

10\. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

“Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

The ‘no’ was already on the tip of James’ tongue as Jeremy quietly tried to tell them about one of the spa services at the hotel.

“And that never goes well,” Richard got out first, trying to keep the noise down so none of the crew filled up the bookings first. Vietnam was indeed a strange country, full of strange customs and stranger delights.

“This sounds like literally the best thing I’ve ever heard.” Jeremy pulled out his reading glasses and the pamphlet he’d stolen. “They wash you, scrub you, wrap you in banana leaves and then massage you by the ocean.”

James curled his lip. “That sounds like a public bath, which we got rid of when we invented indoor plumbing.”

“No, no, no, no,” Jeremy went on. “They have ladies who do this.”

“Wot, like a rub and tug?” Richard scratched at his scalp. “You know, if she’s like,” he raised and eyebrow. “But if she’s like,” he grimaced, “Then yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Gentlemen, you’ll have to trust me on this.” Jeremy shoved the trifold into his back pocket. “The women here are stunning,” he said sotto. “And since I’m apparently a self absorbed prick and you’re a high strung imbecile, I think we deserve some pampering after those bloody bikes.”

“What about me?” James hadn’t thought he’d been problematic at all this trip. In fact, things had gone ridiculously well compared to most of their trips. 

Jeremy grinned in the way that one knew whatever came out next was a joke at your expense. “I’m sure they have a charity program, James.”

Richard and Jeremy cracked up at the joke. “Oh ha ha, another joke at James’ expense. How hilarious.”

“I’ll take Linh and you can have Mai.” Jeremy had the pamphlet out again, pointing out spa workers. Richard sucked in a breath and pointed animatedly at a photo, bouncing on his feet. “And James can have his Dong.”

James ripped the abused brochure from Jeremy’s hand. He scanned photos until Jeremy pointed out one in the middle, a masseur named, sure enough, Dong. Pinky and Perky doubled over in new fits of laughter. “I’m sure he’s very good at his job.” More cackling and wheezes came from the squealing pillocks. “Probably gets all the hard cases.” Richard almost keeled over and clung on to Jeremy. James decided to twist the knife one more time, enjoying their laughter “I bet he’d be a great fit for me.”


	11. “It’s not always like this.”

11\. “It’s not always like this.”

They had all managed to escape. James deflected some attention with a tense interview on his doorstep, giving no indication he was on his way to a hastily rented flat where Jeremy hid. 

Richard was already there when James arrived. They were laying on the bed, Richard spooned behind Jeremy with his arms trying to hold Jeremy’s huge body. Richard lifted his head as James waited in the bedroom doorway, uncertain of the new rules now that Top Gear was over. 

“James.” Jeremy held out an arm, beckoning him to the bed. The week’s troubles melted away as James climbed in and into Jeremy’s long arms, his own arms matching with Hammond’s.

James dropped his forehead against Jeremy’s, the closeness more intimate than a kiss would have been. Jeremy’s breath hitched and James felt Richard’s arms tighten, holding Jeremy closer.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy choked out. 

James kissed his forehead. “Stop apologizing you pillock.”

He stuttered again, “I’m sorry.” Jeremy was on the verge of tears as James stroked his hair, trying to calm him. “It’s not always like this.”

“I know.” James leaned forward and pressed his lips against Jeremy’s cheek. “We’ll work it out.” Jeremy only started to cry harder. “Have you talked to Andy today?”

Richard poked up from behind Jeremy at the prospect of new news. Jeremy just shook his head slightly, not having turned his phone back on since the deluge of calls started rolling in when the news broke.

“Andy has a new plan in the works for us and has said to just hold on while he gets the bids sorted.”

Hammond’s hands shifted again, giving the giant bear a crushing hug. “Bids?” His eyes were red but focused laser sharp on James once business was mentioned.

“Bids,” James repeated, kissing Jeremy’s nose. “ITV, Netflix, Amazon... They all want you.” Jeremy’s sobs calmed down to sniffles. “Maybe it’s time to turn your phone on and call Andy.” James threaded a leg between Jeremy’s, reaching through him to rest his foot against one of Hammond’s ankles.


	12. “What if I don’t see it?”

12\. “What if I don’t see it?”

He’d woken James where he napped on the tiny hospital sleeper. Richard’s finger had twitched around Jeremy’s hand, the first sign of movement they’d seen in days.

James was awake instantly, blurry but scampering over to Richard’s bed, leaning over the rail and watching as Jeremy tried to get him to squeeze again.

“Do it again, Rich. Squeeze my hand.” Jeremy's big hands held Hammond’s much smaller ones, splotches of healing black and blue from the wrist straps and needle pokes already starting to disappear. “Hammond. Squeeze.” Jeremy squeezed Richard’s hand, trying to coax another reaction from him without success. 

“What if I don’t see it?” James was always a pessimist. The doctors had said Richard could be out for weeks or months; a few days was miraculous even by their hopeful standards.

“James, he did it, I swear to God he squeezed.”

They both watched as the machines bleeped away in the background. Hammond didn’t move. James went to comb his fingers through Richard’s hair, still amazed at the lack of any outward damage. “I’m sure he did Jez.”

Both of Jeremy’s hands were wrapped around Richard’s limp hand. “Wake up, you irritating pikey.” James looked away from the loving epithet and watched the readouts for heart tracings, breathing, and oxygen levels. No change.


	13. “I never knew it could be this way.”

13\. “I never knew it could be this way.”

Jeremy had booked a family vacation in the Mediterranean, getting a good deal on a week’s rental of a yacht and crew. Fran had really nailed them price wise, slightly off season and desperate to book anyone facing the impending economic recession.

They’d asked James along. Aside from being Jeremy’s friend he mixed well with all the Clarksons and wouldn’t cost anything extra to use the last cabin onboard. Fran hadn’t minded and the kids all looked forward to having Uncle James with them on holiday.

They met with James at the airport, his carry on beside him after checking his small suitcase. Jeremy had let him know they’d rented a boat so he packed light, aware of the limitations of floating vessels and having stayed in many tiny holds before.

They flew to Greece and were driven to the port, Fran leading the way after finding the bosun and having her point them in the right direction.

“Jeremy,” James grabbed his arm and held him back from the marching clan. “You said you rented a boat.” He looked around at the luxury yachts docked on the pier. Some were verging on super yacht territory.

“I did.” Jeremy pulled his tripping friend down the boards.

James watched as the boats got bigger and fancier as they walked past slips. “You didn’t mention yachts.”

Jeremy shrugged, smiling smugly behind his sunglasses. “All yachts are by definition boats, are they not?” Fran and the children had stopped, talking to a man in a crisp white uniform. James had his indulgences, from his Rolls to Bentleys, but Jeremy intended to give James a peek at what could be.

“Man in heaven,” James said as he climbed aboard. The children were already scrambling below deck to claim cabins and Fran was talking to the staff, all business as usual. “I never knew it could be this way.”

From the personal chef to the onboard masseur, James still had a lot to discover. “Get used to it.” Jeremy walked to the bow and looked out into the harbor, James following behind him in wonder. “There’s an sea of possibility out there.” Jeremy intended to capture it and carry everyone with him.


	14. “I can’t come back.”

14\. “I can’t come back.”

“Jeremy, turn it around.” Kate came through their walkie-talkie over the noise of the hovervan. “Neil has to get another pass.”

Jeremy knew the hovervan wouldn’t turn like that and there no backing up. He kept the wheel straight but slowed on the speed, hoping they wouldn’t send up sinking again. 

“Negative, repeat, negative. It won’t turn like a car.” Richard dropped the walkie-talkie out of sight on the chance that some of the film would be usable.

There was silence, Jeremy trying to do what would be best for filming and also keeping them dry. Dryer anyway. James and Richard were already soaked. “Need to move down the bank,” came across the air from a poor camera operator stuck in the muddy reeds and hauling a camera.

“Jeremy, can you come back to Casper’s position?” Nick was out of his mind and Jeremy looked at Richard as the slowed hovervan dipped dangerously.

“I can’t come back.” Richard held the button down as Jeremy shouted. They were taking on water as they slowed, the fans not able to keep them high enough out of the water. The intake of water made them heavier and continued to sink them even lower. “They think I’m in a bloody Ferrari.”

“Go up there, we can moor against that tree.”

The last time they’d gotten near trees the windscreen broke. “James!” He fought with the wheel as the engine and fans struggled. 

“Aim for the lock five hundred meters downstream.” Kate was running and huffing over the bad connection. “We can refuel and tow you back upstream.”

Richard was already confirming, powering the engine and launching them forward and up. The water washing over their shoes drained away. “We’re moving!” Jeremy was ready to be done with this whole stupid idea. And they wanted him to slot this thing into an ancient lock? He fake-screamed as they moved through the water. Richard still wasn’t giving him enough power to steer with. “We’re going to die!”

“It’s not even two meters deep,” James shouted. “We’ll be fine.”

“Hammond’s going to die!” Jeremy changed his epitaph and earned a sharp elbow from the pikey. 

James laughed across the seats. “Will he float?”

“Like a duck.” Jeremy knew where James was going. They’d just watched the movie last night.

“Because he’s made of wood?” James was cracking up. Cleese had managed to keep it straight through the whole joke.

“And therefore?”

Richard was laughing as well, one minor disaster averted even if Kate didn’t get her shot. “He’s a witch!”


	15. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

15\. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“In the cock! HA! Right in the nads! That’s what I’m talking about!” Richard knew he was cracking. He’d been alone in the snow for too long, only the unblinking gaze of the camera for a companion. They should have been here by now. Should have driven those stupid trucks up the mountain where he’d been airdropped and picked him up.

Where the fuck were the cockfaces?

He’d done much the same with Matty, lashing out and becoming petulant then sobbing when he was alone. His tent was his only sanctuary, holding his dwindling rations and the emergency supplies that couldn’t be seen on film. He could admit defeat and sat phone out for a helicopter pickup but he wasn’t in immediate danger. He was healthy and fed, hydrated and not frozen so he let time roll past.

The extra firewood he found along the line of pines had started it. Spare twine worked well as a binding, holding his mock up voodoo dolls together and taking most of an afternoon to craft. He talked to them as if they were his friends, setting up Jeremy as a conceited ass and James as a similarly arrogant snob. 

Surely the crackling of the fire wasn’t covering up the noise of approaching engines. It was hard to gauge against the roar of silence.

He had another tin of beans for supper, heated over the campfire. It was still better food than he’d had in many parts of the world. The sun set early and he retreated to his tent, abandoning the small lean-to he’d cobbled out of more pines. The fire would last all night with the freshly laid heavy logs. He had matches and lighters enough to restart it if it did go out. It was rough living, but with a few comforts just off camera and well within the view of health and safety.

Without anything else to occupy his night, he grabbed TreeJeremy and BranchJames, pickup up Jeremy’s head when it had fallen off again. They joined him in his tent, not to far in concept from Action Man figures that he had as a child.

The tent warmed surprisingly quickly with the small sterno stove and his body heat. He played solitaire for a while, giving up again after cheating to close out the deck. James had slipped the deck of cards into a pocket of his backpack before he left. Maybe his earlier portrayal of branch James had been a bit harsh.

He grabbed the sticks and stood them up, ready to act out a scenario where they actually rescued him timely from the mountain.

“Do you think I’m an ass?” BranchJames asked TreeJeremy.

“No, you’re not as bad as I am.” He wiggled TreeJeremy as he spoke. “There can be only one ass per show.”

“You have a fantastic ass,” BranchJames admitted and Richard twisted the sticks, making James look at Jeremy’s rear.

“Thank you James, it is a nice one, I’m rather attached to it. Hahahaha,” Richard laughed, bouncing TreeJeremy.

“I like the way your jeans fit and when you bend over into a car.” Richard frowned. That didn’t sound like James.

“Would you like to see?” Richard then twisted Jeremy’s doll, holding it parallel to the ground. 

He was pretty sure he was really losing his grip on reality, talking to himself and playing with stick dolls in his tent. “That’s nice,” BranchJames said as Richard pushed the two sticks closer together. He held Jeremy straight up and pressed the faces of the dolls together, laughing as TreeJeremy’s head rolled off again. “I’ve kissed your face off,” Richard said, sending himself into a fit of laughter.

Setting James down, he grabbed TreeJeremy’s head and carefully balanced it back on the end of the stick thinking he ought to get more twine and tie it on better.

Richard held the two sticks up next to each other, looking at them and seriously considering how things would go. He needed to get out of here, sooner rather than later.

Casting James as the strange, open-minded, and oddly knowledgeable one of the pairing, Richard pushed his stick toward Jeremy’s, rubbing the pine needle and moss covered bark together.

“You’ll have to excuse me, but I was stabbed in the cock earlier today.” Richard lost it again, letting the dolls conk into each other and sending Jeremy’s head rolling. He didn’t bother to retrieve it.

“So big,” Richard said with a giggle, rubbing the sticks together.

“Hard,” BranchJames gave a more forceful thrust against headless TreeJeremy. Richard was shamefully hard in his pants, layers and layers of thermals and wool and insulation doing little to restrict his growth.

Gone were the stick dolls, replaced in his head by a fully fleshed out Jeremy and James, leaning into each other and pawing through jeans and jumpers, occasionally leaning in for quick kisses as hands roamed. 

He abandoned the stick dolls, leaving them laying together as he rolled over and undid his jeans, reaching inside as he imagined what was taking them so long.


	16. “Listen. No, really listen.”

16\. “Listen. No, really listen.”

Jeremy and James were having a quiet lunch on a warm autumn day. Ostentatiously they were discussing and planning for the next film, but in reality they were eating some good food and sharing a bottle of wine.

The conversation swung around to their missing colleague who was off playing happy father on his little farm. “Richard’s turning fifty this year.”

“That’s quite a large jump from thirty nine to fifty.”

“I know.” Jeremy picked up his wine and puzzled at its pink colour “I think we should do something for him. Some big celebration.”

James had run out of wine and was waiting on the steward to bring more. “He didn’t take forty very well. Don’t want to repeat that.”

“Listen. No, really listen.” Jeremy wasn’t sure how his idea would go over. “I was thinking maybe we could get away like we used to. Just the three of us. After Christmas is over.”

James thought. “Awful cold to be camping in the lake district in January.”

“Heaven’s no.” Jeremy would never do that to himself voluntarily. “Some place warm.

“Vietnam?” For as much as Jeremy had fallen in love with the country, it wouldn’t be right for Richard. “The Maldives were nice when I went.”

It sounded great to Jeremy. Sun and ocean, five star cabins with beautiful views and gourmet meals.

“How about Botswana?” Hammond had fallen in love with Oliver there and they all had fond memories.

James perked up at the mention of the beautiful country. “It’s close to South Africa as well.” Richard could have his adventures and still keep their sanitary plumbing. Phones were pulled out as a January trip was planned. Richard was the last one of them to turn fifty and James and Jeremy were going to make sure he had an unforgettable time.


	17. “There is just something about them/her/him.”

17\. “There is just something about them/her/him.”

Jeremy came in from the small steps that lead up to the portacabin after watching Will Young drive away in his small, sensible car. Richard just watches Jeremy with a raised eyebrow as James starts to softly sing.

“Will and Jeremy sitting in a tree...”

“Oh hush, you.” Jeremy flustered despite himself. “Will’s just a very chatty fellow.”

James found it hard to believe that Jeremy was that oblivious and sent a pointed glance to Richard.

“Jeremy,” Richard started.

“You’re how old? I can’t believe we have to have this talk with you.” James scratched at his scalp, not comfortable with the outrageous flirting.

“What talk?” Richard covered his eyes with his hand and rubbed at his forehead. “I finally talk to someone who doesn’t mind me, and you’re all acting stupid.”

Richard tried to cut off the building rant. “Jeremy...”

“The whole Kristen Scott Thomas thing didn’t work out and now you’re just ragging on me because Will actually liked me.”

“He liked you a little too much.” Jeremy was pacing but stopped at James’ quiet words. 

“You do know Will is gay?” Richard asked as gently as possible. 

Jeremy looked at Richard like he’d grown a second head. “He’s not.” James groaned. “Just because he’s fit doesn’t mean...”

“Fit?” James interjected with a curled lip.

“Fit, yeah. Trim.” Jeremy waived his hand, stopping the mental thesaurus he was running through before it became Pythonesque. “There is just something about him.” 

“Oh you poor soul.” Richard looked at big, bumbling Jeremy in a new light. “Your gaydar is broken.”

“It is not.” Jeremy argued.

“It’s like those things you put over the horses eyes...” Not an equestrian himself, James didn’t know the word, but the concept fit.

Jeremy was sputtering now, leaving room for Richard to spin him out. “Blinker, yeah, more like a full blinder with him.” Jeremy could grumble all he wanted; apparently he was the only one who didn’t see it. “So when’s your next date?”

“It’s not a date!” Jeremy was quick to point out. “He says he makes a fantastic lemon caper chicken and he’s going to call me later.”

James snorted as Richard tried not to grin. “Right.”


	18. “Secrets? I love secrets.”

18\. “Secrets? I love secrets.”

Richard found James and Jeremy gossiping by the coffee maker and was feeling left out. Anything whispered in the Top Gear offices was automatically embarrassing or hilarious, usually both. 

“Secrets?” Richard beamed. “I love secrets.” James shuffled on the spot and Richard knew it would be a secret worth ferreting out. Jeremy smiled, fighting back half a chuckle.

“Don’t,” James said, the slightest of blushes creeping up his neck. Jeremy let loose with a laugh as James stammered and flushed. “It’s a secret.”

“James has just had a religious experience.” James rolled his eyes, knowing there was no way to shut Jeremy up or keep his new found information from Richard. 

“Shut up,” James said, working hard to suppress a smile as Jeremy looked ready to burst.

Jeremy continued over James' objections. “You know how Schumacher was on last week and we found out he was the Stig?”

“Yeah,” Richard nodded. It had been great filming and they were all still riding the high of his visit.

“Guess who found the real Stig today?” Jeremy hitched a thumb at at clearly embarrassed James.

Richard was confused. He knew it didn’t always take much but... “So Schumacher wasn’t the Stig?”

“No,” James bounced, dropping into his presenter persona as he told his story. “The real Stig was in a storage closet, tied to a chair with piano wire.”

“Schumacher tied the Stig up?” 

Jeremy laughed again, reaching out to grab onto James’ forearm. Richard was still confused. What was so funny? “Stole his jumpsuit too.” James flushed harder and stared at his shoes. “And helmet.” He waited for someone to share the joke. Jeremy leaned in closer. “Stig doesn’t wear pants.”

“Oh. Oh!” Jeremy’s answer explained some of James’ acute problems.

Jeremy chuckled again. “The Stig’s never wanted to thank you for anything, has he?”

Richard shook his head. “No, not really.” He racked his faulty memory, maybe a passed coffee or a held door, but nothing major. Not like untying him from a week in a closet. 

His answer and confusion sent Jeremy into a new wave of hysterics. “Shut up,” James muttered with his arms crossed over his chest. He’d gone properly red now, suddenly reminding Richard of an embarrassed teenager. 

“Stiggy likes to say thank you... in his own special way.” Jeremy winked salaciously and Richard noticed the stain on James’ trousers, winding up a laugh of his own.


	19. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

19\. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

Andy and Jeremy were out having a quiet rosè post meeting, Jeremy’s tie loosened around his neck like in the old Repton days. Andy’s had never made an appearance. They feasted on plates of appetizers, grease and fat and carbs in lieu of the nutrition their doctors had both ordered. 

“Yes, I admit it, you were right.” Jeremy poured more wine into his glass, feeling like he deserved more than Andy.

“Surprised you didn’t see that one.” Andy eyed the large portion Jeremy poured for himself. “Denial?”

“Nooooo, not at all.” He raised the glass to his lips. “Wishful thinking, perhaps.”

Andy grunted. “Sod’s Law.”

Jeremy imagined all the ways things could play out, not seeing any good resolutions. “Rule 34.”

Andy looked confused. “Is that the one where...?” Jeremy nodded. “Fucking Christ I need a drink.”

People passed the small cafe. Most in cars, some on foot and the occasional cyclist. Busses ran, the wind blew, and time moved forward. Life went on.

“Did you really see them?” Andy asked, unable to get the images sorted in his head.

“Ayup.” Jeremy finished off his wine and poured the rest of the bottle for himself.

“How did...” Andy mashed his hands together. Just the size difference between them was problematic. “And anyway, I told you they were going at it. You shouldn’t have looked.”

He was suitably chastised and traumatized from his discovery. “Do they sell liquor here?”

“Oh, grow a pair and ask them.” Leave it to Andy to give him direct advice. “May’s a old queen and Richard would suck your cock on principle alone.” Jeremy’s jaw dropped and he covered it quickly with a napkin. “Don’t act so shocked, just because you don’t have to listen to the hotel room requests...”


	20. “You could talk about it, you know?”

20\. “You could talk about it, you know?”

Richard was watching James mindlessly put together another lego kit as an empty bottle of vodka sat next to him. His shadow had turned to stubble and was now ragged growth, making him look both unkempt and older than his years. He pulled from the large bin of cast off bricks, carding through them to find any leftover bits of Technics to add to his rack and pinion. 

“You could talk about it, you know?” Richard didn’t want to pry into James’ personal life, but there was little sadder in the world than a depressed James.

James blinked though his reading glasses, eyes exaggeratedly large behind the strong lenses. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Richard watched silently as James went back to his mindless task. James was building a tank and Richard pondered whether it was a conscious or subconscious choice. 

“Some times it’s good just to have a friend around.” James hadn’t looked up, still working on the underside of his tank. 

Richard grabbed some bricks from the bin and worked on his Range Rover to fight against James’ tank.


	21. “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

21\. “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

It was just the four of them for the meeting. No producers aside from Andy. No legal people. No advisors or administrators or extra opinions. 

The Chump offices had mostly cleared out, tapering away after the last show was finished and leaving the glass and industrial building largely empty.

Jeremy looked at his friends. He wasn’t quite admitting defeat, but growing older had taken a big chunk out of him and tapering off something he loved was difficult. With all eyes on him it was time to start the meeting. Only he and Andy were aware of the word on high from Amazon. 

“Change is annoyingly difficult,” he started, flipping a pen in his hand nervously. “But Amazon is allowing us to close down the tent and focus more on the grand adventures for the next season.”

James and Richard looked at each other. It was a large bombshell to have dropped on them suddenly.

James raised his hand. “Does that mean the tent’s not coming on then?”

Andy facepalmed and Richard turned, astonished at the inappropriate comment.


	22. “We could have a chance.”

22\. “We could have a chance.”

“You bloody moron, you’ve steered us into the gravel trap!”

Richard screamed from above. “That was your fault!”

“How can it be my fault, you’re on the bloody steering!” James was already taking his seatbelt off. Putting the accelerator to the floor did nothing but spin more gravel behind them and sink they further into the pit.

“I told you to go faster and shift down for that last turn!” Richard was climbing out of the little Metro, leaning upside down from the half unclipped safety harness.

A white helmet hung down into James’ window, too round to be the Stig’s and too screamy to be anyone else. “Rubbish, you steered into the gravel. It’s designed to stop Formula One cars. How the hell did you think a Jaguar with a Metro on it’s roof would go through it?”

Richard rolled his eyes at the extended lecture-come-defence. “You shift down, the weight goes over the front end and it would have turned instead of sinking.” How many times had the Stig told them this to handle Gambon on their own track?

“I shouldn’t have had to do that,” James argued back, pounding his hand on the wheel-less dashboard. “When I realized you weren’t turning it was too late to stop.”

Hammond was still upside down and his face had gone a worrisome shade of red. “D’you think they’ve got enough footage?”

James looked at the windscreen mounted camera and then looked around for the director. “Reckon so.”

“Help me.” Richard had his hands clinging onto the window seal of the Jag, scrambled brain still not used to being inverted for so long. James managed to climb through the health and safety restraints and help Richard down from the Metro, holding on to him discreetly as he leaned against the Jag and got his bearings back.

Tim and the other German were sitting on top of their cars, already watching what was left of the race. Hammond was climbing before James could stop him, using the broken back window as a footrest. James wasn’t so bold, standing on the door of the destroyed Jag.

“We could have a chance.” Richard was looking at James and not at the race as Sabine and Jeremy played dirty. It was scripted for them to go out so Jeremy could have his ego fulfilling star time. 

“We never had a chance.” James paused as they race neared them again, the noise louder now that they were out of the cars.

“Ooh, nearly in the gravel!” Richard smiled as the four cars whizzed past, cameras and follow cars hot on their trail. 

James waited until the excitement passed them by. “I said we never had a chance, but I think I prefer it this way.”

Richard smiled from underneath his helmet. “I prefer it too.” One of the assistants motioned that filming was winding down and it was time to let the crew tug the cars back to the garage. “Help me down again?” It was easy guiding Hammond down from the top car, grabbing him by the hips and steadying him until the tiny rocks held his weight.

“Do you think the Germans are going to be able to edit anything useful for their show?” They started walking back to the production setup, keen to be out of the health and safety helmets.

In a rare show of affection, James put his arm around Richard’s shoulder, not knowing there was still a camera on them. “Don’t care.” The walk back was easy now that they were following the track and out of the pit. “You did really well today, I’m sure it’ll be great on air.”


	23. “You can’t give more than yourself.”

23\. “You can’t give more than yourself.”

Richard and James had both decided to come round to Jeremy’s flat. As colleagues and best mates it was up to them to see Jeremy through this rough patch, watching him crumble his mother died and Fran served him with divorce papers. Getting fired had been the last straw.

The Jeremy that greeted them at the door was a shell of his former self, clearly on a bender and surrounded by take away carriers and empty liquor bottles. James shuffled in the luxury apartment awkwardly as Hammond grabbed Jeremy in a big hug, not fearful of any paps this far into the private building. “We’ve come to check up on you.”

“The rumor of my demise was an exaggeration.” Well read James would catch the reference. Richard didn’t. 

“Well, I didn’t hear that one, but it’s good to see you again.” Hammond let Jeremy go and closed the door, locking them all inside Jeremy’s squalid flat. James immediately set to tidying, trying to make it look like he was simply clearing room for three bottoms instead of the empty center space. 

“Guess some of the housework’s gotten away from me.” Jeremy looked around as if he was suddenly noticing the mess. 

Richard kicked an empty bottle under the sofa. “No worries. You want a coffee?” They’d brought beer for Mensday Wednesday, carrying on the tradition they had while filming but upon seeing the state of Jeremy they’d tried to hide the six packs. “Coffee, yeah?”

Jeremy nodded and Richard went to the kitchen and tried to find the coffemaker and supplies in the ruin of what was once a very nice kitchen. James was emptying the trash bin and looking for a new liner, raising an eyebrow silently as Hammond tried to talk without saying anything.

This was bad. Worse than they’d thought. Drastic measures were called for. If Jeremy would go for it.

“You go talk to him, you’re better at it.” James shuffled Richard off, sticking him with the short straw. Richard had been through some therapy, on a limited basis, but was better at the whole ‘talking’ thing than James was.

“So.... Uhh... How are you?” James cringed in the kitchen and finished dumping the old coffee grounds into the bin. 

“Pretty bloody awful, actually.” Jeremy was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, knowing what they two of them were attempting. “Have you been taking lessons from the May school of compassion?”

“I heard that,” James called from the kitchen. “Don’t make me come out there.”

“You can’t come out because everyone already knows you’re out.” Richard watched Jeremy bicker, glad to see something in his eyes but not sure irritation and annoyance were the right looks.

“Yes, stick May with the Page 3 girl, it will be hilarious.”

The brief moment of levity only showed just how poorly Jeremy really was. He sat sullenly on the sofa as Richard watched him, trying to figure out what to do. James arrived with the coffee and handed them out efficiently, each one made just as they liked it. James was good with details and memory. Richard tried to natter on as they drank. Jeremy largely ignored him, occasionally grunting and focused on some midway point in the middle of the room. 

The columns stopped. Filming stopped. The live shows were pushed back. Andy saw to the nuts and bolts of rescheduling Jeremy, but it was up to the two of them to rebuild him. 

Hammond’s ineffectual banter had fallen by they wayside, leaving them in a heavy quiet. It would be time for a film soon, something to cut the silence and give the hours a comfortable focus.

“You can’t give more than yourself.” James has broken the quiet, sitting back in the armchair contemplatively. Richard wasn’t sure if he was quoting another obscure poet or repeating some line he’d been told somewhere but it seemed to crack Jeremy in a way that all of Richard’s own words had failed to do.

Jeremy’s eyes shifted, looking more at his knees than off into nowhere. Richard scooted closer, letting their shoulders touch. “We’ve got you.” He put a little weight into his lean until he felt Jeremy’s solidness push back. “It will work out.”

Lost in his own pain, Jeremy retreated when he thought about they world they’d built, all the editors and researchers and assistants and designers waiting on him to keep on it and keep the payroll going. 

“We’re putting Jeremy first this time. Your children, your health, your friendships.” Jeremy had suffered more than them with the increasing costs of fame. Each scandal, no matter how cheeky, had worn on him and had snowballed to this bundle of bad timing. He would never pull back himself so Richard and James took it upon themselves to do so. “Remember how you said one day we would buy a pub when we were old and grey?” James ran a hand through his hair and shook his shaggy locks.

Jeremy looked up slowly, finally making eye contact. “You didn’t.”

“Not as much,” James qualified, not sure how his half-cracked plan would play out. “I’ve become a financial backer of a pub in the Cotswolds that would love to have us on temporarily.”

It was still silent, but watching the thoughts cross Jeremy’s face had been worth signing that check. 

“Whether its a week. A month. Whatever you need.” Richard drew Jeremy’s attention as some of the depressive fog fell away. “We’re going to be with you.”

“You bought a pub?” Jeremy looked back at a confidently smirking James. 

“I bought us a pub.” The distinction was quite clear. “It’s a little ramshackle but quaint.”

Jeremy rubbed at his face, scratching through his overgrown beard. 

“There’s plenty of parking out back and it’s just past Salford.”

He perked up even more at hearing the pub was near his old house where his children still lived. “Can we go see it now?”

“If you want,” Richard nodded. “But we’ll have to take my car. James brought his Boxter, the twat.”


	24. “Patience… is not something I’m known for.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight BDSM overtones, nothing explicit.

24\. “Patience… is not something I’m known for.”

Jeremy looked at his wrists as James handcuffed him to the wall. Leave it to James to have points attached in his bedroom. “Are those the handcuffs from the caravan?”

“Yes,” James admitted, carefully moving the padding around so Jeremy’s wrists wouldn’t chafe. Hammond was still looking through James’ box of toys, occasionally raising an eyebrow at whatever he’d picked up. His hands were hidden by the box flaps, keeping his selections a secret. 

Jeremy tested his bindings. He could easily pull the mounts from the wallboard if he chose to do so but they were effective in reminding him that he wasn’t to touch anything.

James carefully undid Jeremy's belt and dropped Jeremy’s trousers, letting him kick them and his pants off in a coordinated motion.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” He had been drunk. They’d all been drunk and shouldn’t have remembered. 

“But yet you did,” James said with a fond pat to his cheek. “Find anything interesting Hammond?”

Jeremy was left alone as James went to sort through the toys with Richard. “Well... I get this and... this?” Richard pushed something out of the way, god only knew what kind of strange, vaguely sexual things James had stashed. “But what’s this?”

James smiled and it was enough to get Jeremy’s guts rolling. Was it a restraint or a plug? Did it clamp on to something or spread it wide? “Do you want me to show you?”

“Oh god no!” Richard was almost comical as he handed whatever it was off to James. He had no right to be as innocent as he pretended. 

“This part goes in and then...” James made a cranking motion and Richard’s eyes glazed over. “Maybe next time.” James shot a quick look at Jeremy, who was still hanging from the wall.

“Patience… is not something I’m known for.” He was already aroused and they hadn’t even started yet. James had known to bind his hands so he’d have no way to touch himself.

James dug in the box again. “I’m thinking maybe this.” He held something in his palm for Richard to examine. “And then that if he doesn’t shut up.”

“What about...?” Richard pointed out something else to James, who carefully picked it up.

“Now that’s just cruel,” he smirked.

Richard smiled. “Is it? I need to get him back for blasting ‘Seconds Out’ at me all week.”

James rooted around in the bottomless box again. “This one, then. With the ball on it.”

Richard looked up at Jeremy now, full of evil intent. “Yup.”


	25. “I could really eat something.”

25\. “I could really eat something.”

Jeremy held up some sort of Lovecraftian sea monster on the end of a chopstick. “Tempura battered and fried. It’s really good.”

Richard shied away from the table, not wanting any part of it. “No, thank you.” Jeremy shrugged and dropped the plasmatic mess back onto the plate. Its unbattered eye stared back at him despite supposedly being cooked.

“Try this, then.” James pushed over his plate with a small section scooped out. The violent purple shade was something he hadn’t seen since he had to take his daughters out for new clothes. Even in the dim light it seemed to glow, either irradiated by the Russians or from so deep it had no other options for light.

“I’m not hungry, really.” Everything was wrong. It smelled of diesel and Seaparks. Things dripped and turned the rice soggy as wilted vegetables marinated in turpentine and gravel.

James grabbed a chunk of something with his chopsticks and brought it to his mouth. “Shame, this is actually quite good.”

“Yeah, you can keep it,” Richard said with disgust. The only thing palatable was the local beer but even that had a strange flavour to it. He was hungry. More than hungry, bordering on starving. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

Jeremy had gotten up and was speaking with the cook, who seemed more interesting in mending his fishing net than hygiene or anything culinary. “You haven’t eaten in three days,” James said at a whisper like it was a giant secret.

“I can’t eat this,” Richard moaned, feeling his stomach clench again. Acid rolled and burned up his oesophagus, slowly eating himself for lack of food.

James found a non-contaminated section of rice and seaweed, again turning his plate and offering Hammond his fork. “At least a few bites. Won’t make you sick.”

Richard felt his stomach lurch despite being empty.

James looked behind him and soon Jeremy was seated next to him again and looking rather smug.

“What?” Richard asked as everyone stared at him. Maybe one of the entrees had crawled into his lap.

“I believe I have solved your problem.”

“Oh, no, Jeremy...” Richard pictured another pile of fried animals, eyeballs and tentacles and and scales being produced just for him. The cook came back and handed Jeremy a box and chatting a bit. Jeremy’s Vietnamese was rough but effective as the cook nodded and went back to his nets.

“I have for you...” Jeremy presented the box, comforting blue with English writing and familiar orange tiger just waiting to be ripped into.

“Frosties?” Richard was immediately wary. The box was probably just hiding another fermented then fried alien species. “Here?” Richard reached for the box, surprised that the weight was right and the flap was still glued down.

“Yes.” Jeremy beamed, proud of his gift. 

“Do you think they have any milk?” James looked around the tables and chairs that passed for a dining room. “Cow milk?”

Richard was already opening the box and tearing into the bag on the inside. The smell of powdered sugar and commercial food production hit his nose and he wept in joy. He didn’t care about milk and couldn’t wait, stuffing a handful into his mouth.

“This is so good,” he said, already reaching for another handful. “At least I could really eat something.”


	26. “You keep me warm.”

26\. “You keep me warm.”

Andy had said India. Chris had said India. Phil had said India. They packed light, ready for the oppressive heat and humidity of the southern continent.

They were right with Mumbai and Jaipur, the light fabrics and cotton blends not doing much to alleviate the oppressive heat but not trapping it against their skin either. Delhi was no cooler, roasting them alive even without the fireworks. 

Except until they went past Shimla, climbing the Himalayas in the surprisingly reliable cars. They had no choice but to camp. The hotels and towns thinned out to non existent on the mountains. Richard was in his element. Cold, but bundled up in his cocoon sleeping bag and used to a bit of kip in a rockpile.

James and Jeremy were miserable. Both with bad backs and frozen to the core neither slept. James could hear Jeremy rustling in his tent over the chattering of his own teeth. The pillows were little more than sacks of fabric scraps and the blankets they had been given were transparent. The sleeping bags were so slick that the blankets wouldn’t even stay on to begin with.

At 13,000 feet and quickly succumbing to the cold it was difficult to talk. Jeremy had thoughts of getting into his car and letting it idle all night. He would be out of petrol in the morning and dead from the fumes, but he would die warm. If he made it. The guy wires were invisible in the dark and the campsite was littered with large piles of animal dung. 

“Jeremy,” James called from the next tent with all of his breath. “I’m very cold.”

James never called him Jeremy. He could hear the abject misery in the man’s voice, both wanting to kill Hammond but not able to do anything during the cryogenic process.

Jeremy’s leg was numb. His zipper was broken on the sleeping bag and the stupid blanket had slid off again. Gathering up a deep, oxygen deprived breath he grabbed his rock pillow and bondage inspired sleeping bag and carefully walked the meter to James’ tent. He didn’t trip or slide on feces, and managed to climb through James’ flap without letting out the tiny amount of warmth that had built up.

This was colder than the north pole. If his brain didn’t hurt he would wonder how a place could be so deathly cold. “Budge over,” he said as he dropped his pillow and rolled out his bag. Both big men they wouldn’t fit two in a bag, but they could wrap up together in two bags.

James lifted his hands and felt Jeremy’s knit hat and hood drawn over it. Jeremy got a whiff of James’ foot fungus as more fabric trailed across his face, not the fingers he had been expecting.

“I’m going to die up here.” James was shaking as bad as a poorly tuned diesel engine.

Jeremy reached out through the layers of puffy coats and thermals. “You keep me warm.” He pulled James in close and wrapped the sleeping bags tightly around them.


	27. “Can you wait for me?”

27 “Can you wait for me?”

“James has picked a stupid car.” Jeremy lost track of how many times he’d said that to the windscreen mounted camera. James was still behind him, the Aston keeping up with the Porsche and Lambo. “If I had no air conditioning I’d look ridiculous right now.”

Of course it was scripted. They’d been running the gag from the coast all the way up to the mountains, James sweating and bouncing and being crushed by the track car as Jeremy and Richard sat in relative comfort. He was well hydrated and had a portable fan between takes but it looked good on film. 

Jeremy trusted that the camera crew was getting good footage of miserable James and that James was savvy enough to play it up on the in car camera.

They had to do a few takes at the Stelvio Pass, climbing back up the mountain as the drones and follow car reset. Jeremy and Richard got out to stretch their legs and decided to cluster around James’ car when they noticed he wasn’t getting out. 

“That’s a bold fashion choice there.” Hammond leaned against the door of the Aston and pointed at James’ naked torso, pale as ever and drenched with sweat. 

“Is that circa 10,000 BC? Great year for loincloths, that was.”

“Shut it.” James chugged from the massive two liter water bottle. “I, as a proper presenter, have to suffer for my art.”

Jeremy stooped down to look into the window. “Is that what they call it now?” He made a jerking off motion, sending Richard into hysterics. 

“Just because you’re jealous...” James re-adjusted his shirt which was draped over his lap and giving him the barest hint of modesty

“I’m not jealous of you, this is a bad choice of cars.”

“No AC, no radio, no seat cushioning, no carpeting....” Jeremy listed off all the Aston’s deficits.

Hammond was nodding along now, siding with Jeremy. “Now the 911, that’s a good car.”

“The Superleggera has been perfect this entire trip.

“Well, except for the filler cap,” Hammond commented.

“Let’s not get bogged down with minute details.” Jeremy conveniently rolled over his own car’s flaws. “The Vantage N28 was a stupid choice.”

Richard agreed. “He’s right.”

“Sorry, but you’re wrong. This is a good car and I love it.”

Jeremy gawked. “You’ve complained the entire time, ‘My poor buttocks’, ‘ouch my testicles’, you’ve sweated through your clothing, and now you’re going to be naked on national telly.”

“This car gives me the fizz.” Jeremy and Richard both rolled their eyes. “I’m going to be the one who can say I wanked it on the Stelvio while you two imbeciles are worrying over the stitching on your leather seats.”

Eyes were immediately drawn to James’ lap. “Oh god, you’re not seriously...” Hammond looked at the cameras mounted all over the inside of James’ car. “At least hang your shirt over that one.”

“These last shots are all aerial and externals. No one will know.”

“I bloody well will.” Jeremy leaned in closer, not wanting the rest of the crew to hear. “Normally I’m pretty tolerant of your fetishes, but keep it in your pants.”

“What pants?” Richard sniggered. 

He knew how May got when he was defiant. Almost mute and with a look of determination about him, all Jeremy could do was hope they got their deposit back without any cleaning charges.

They split up when the crew was ready. Jeremy carefully set the walkie talkie in the center console and hoped the airwaves stayed fairly clean. “Can you wait for me?” He ignored James’ plea. If the man wanted to tickle his jollies he would have to drive by himself, far from the rest of them.

“When ever you’re ready Jeremy. We’ll launch the drone after you set off.” The AD’s voice came from the console, checking in with the camera car and various cameras stationed along the descent. Jeremy clicked the air con up another notch just because he could.

He started slowly, letting everyone follow down the twists and bends. “Rather warm out today, isn’t it?” Richard’s voice came across the handset and Jeremy picked it up.

“It’s a lovely day for the drive. Have my AC up to 3 and I barely feel the heat.”

The line crackled again. “Same here, this air conditioning just feels so good against the sunlight coming in.” Hammond made the sharp turns, slowing the Porsche and being safe. Jeremy checked his mirrors and saw James’ yellow car and the gray Land Rover behind him. 

“James has been awfully quiet on this run, hasn’t he?”

Jeremy completed another hairpin turn before picking up his walkie talkie. “It only takes one hand to steer, there’s no reason he can’t talk.”

“I think he might be trying to double clutch,” Hammond said as they sped through a smooth section. 

Jeremy chucked, thinking himself witty. “Clearing his carburettor.”

“That’s a horrible thought.”

Jeremy steered into another sharp right turn. “For his sake he’d better have both hands on the wheel.” Jeremy eased off the brake as he came out of the turn, engine bucking to go. “Crashing is your area of expertise.”

The handset crackled again as Hammond rode down the curve. “Nah, see, I’m great in the turns.”

Jeremy bit his cheek, not believing Richard had given him the perfect setup. “Sort of like James, who hasn’t quite figured out going straight yet.” He watched in his mirror as James cleared the turn and brought up the rear.

“Yes, like... No!” Jeremy’s belly shook with the force of his laughs. “Oh god, why would you do that to me?”

He looked at the camera again, hoping they were getting all this on tape. The last switchback was rapidly approaching, the grade levelling out and pine trees lining the roadsides. There wouldn’t be much to film at the bottom of the ravine.

“Gentlemen, this is the final thrust.” He paused, waiting for Richard to complain. “Let’s go hard and ride this bitch until she finishes.”

At least a grunt from James would be better than the radio silence. Jeremy had no clue if he had finished halfway up the mountain or if he was still working himself. Jeremy dropped his walkie talkie and purposely spun the tail of his car around the last hairpin in a sort of modified handbrake turn. Sadly, there were no girls to witness his display of manliness and the trees obscured the drone footage.

“Jeremy, that was purely masturbatory.” Hammond came around the turn slower, more cautious since his brush with death. The black tire marks claimed the Pass as Clarkson’s. It was as good as a flag.

“A little personal indulgence never hurt.” James didn’t rise to the bait, still silently trailing in his Aston. “Anyone hear from James on the way down?” There was still a stretch of road until the turn off they were using as a meeting point. The rocky slopes left little room for carparks.

The walkie talkie crackled again as the assistant director grabbed the airwaves. “James has put something over his camera, but unfortunately he forgot about the audio.”

Jeremy laughed so hard he almost wet himself.


	28. “Enough! I heard enough.”

28 “Enough! I heard enough.”

Drunk wasn’t a strong enough word. They were ganted. Paralytically off their tits. The army members kept feeding them their rations, the cultural exchange turning into traditional British gutter crawling. Lights were hung and instruments appeared out of nowhere; the locals happy to indulge the foreigners in their revelries. 

James had found an in with the musicians, dancing with the green-draped women despite the language difference. Hammond had disappeared into the crowd and Jeremy was left with someone who wanted to show off their ninja moves. If he wasn’t so pissed he would have been embarrassed. 

Flames appeared, catching Jeremy’s fleeting attention. Hammond was chugging a can with people that were strangely all his size. Girls danced with small umbrellas. The cultural significance was lost but it was a pleasant distraction from drunken soldiers and openly displayed firearms.

Someone hauled out a karaoke setup and Jeremy was given a microphone. He knew a song and quickly pulled it up on the machine, passing microphones to James and Richard and laughing so much he thought he would shit his pants. 

The locals would have no clue who Bobby Brown was; the English as lost on them as them as the Burmese was lost on the Brits. Hammond was already laughing as the slides came on the small screen. He was well aware of the somewhat obscure song thanks to their constant ribbing. They each had their moments in the song. 

It was Richard’s turn starting off. He always took it in stride as the ‘cutest boy in town’. Jeremy pointed to him about the fast cars and shiny teeth, hardly able to sing for laughing.

‘Famous School’ got Jeremy poked in the ribs. He could take a crack for the team. He mimed pushing down when they sang about help with his paper.

Focus was back on Hammond as the ‘radio promo’ bit came up, blushing through the dirt on his face as he sang how ‘none of the jocks could even tell I’m a homo.’ It was worth it for the next part at James’ expense.

“Eventually me and a friend, Sorta drifted along into S&M.” Jeremy had looped his sweaty armpit around James’ neck, singing with a freedom not found anywhere else. His hip crashed into James as he was wrangled closer. Sweat and alcohol and grit mixed with a smell that was still uniquely James. Jeremy grabbed onto James’ ribs as he belted out the next line.

“I can take about an hour on the tower of power, As long as I gets a little golden shower.” The hand on James’ ribs turned into a grope, getting in a smack to James’ arse before pulling away to finish the song.

They’d decided it was their song long ago. All three of them mixed together into one story - one prematurely ejaculating, spindle loving, vaseline coated joke. 

“Enough! I heard enough.” Hammond dropped his microphone and covered his ears, realizing the film crew was still watching them and recording every minute. They’d never leave any of the song in the final footage, not even past the watershed. 

Jeremy reached back for another quick grab of James’ ass. “Watch me now, I’m going down.”


	29. “I’m doing this for you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BDSM themes in 29 & 30.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29 & 30 go together

29 “I’m doing this for you.”

Jeremy had opened his mouth again, learning nothing from all the previous times it had gotten him into trouble. James hadn’t seen it as the joke it was, inviting him to his ‘dungeon club’ that had been a running joke for years. Not one to back down from a challenge, Jeremy accepted and was too proud to back out despite the list of rules and requirements James had insisted he stick too.

“This is a very closed, secure group, and I’m totally violating that trust bringing you in like this.” James scratched at his cheek as he read Jeremy the rules yet again before they set off, giving him one last time to back out. “You have to trust me and behave.” James swung an old fashioned drawstring gym bag as he stared. 

“James, I know, I already promised I’d behave.” James was a pretentious bore. Uptight to the point of malignancy, Jeremy waived away the same list of rules James had already pointed out a dozen times. Wear what you’re given. Don’t touch. Don’t talk. Stay near James at all times. It sounded completely lame and boring but Jeremy had always been an observer. A night watching James’ scene would better than diving in headfirst.

They drove across town to Canary Wharf, James skillfully tucking one of his plainer cars out of sight. Already the smell of the Thames and stale air assaulted him, vague whiffs of burning rubber and rotting garbage already had Jeremy reconsidering.

The door person was a rather fey thing and Jeremy couldn’t tell what they were, blending the line between male and female like there wasn’t one at all. They looked Jeremy up and down as if sensing new blood. Further in there was another checkpoint. James already starting to unbutton his shirt as a airport security tub was handed to him. “Strip,” James commanded, getting Jeremy his own bin. Off came James’ shirt and white undershirt, and he pulled off his baggy jeans to reveal a pair of vinyl shorts. Jeremy gawked. “Everything,” he said forcefully as they found an empty changing booth.

Jeremy was down to his pants as James started pulling kit out of his gym bag. “Put this on.” It took Jeremy a moment of turning the item until he realized it was a hood. “You don’t need it, but I’m doing this for you...” James busied himself with his bag again. He’d been given the gift of anonymity. As much of an embarrassment as it was, he appreciated James’ thoroughness. The stretchy material pulled over his face, tightening as James did the zip in the back. His mouth was covered by another zipper, only the eye holes giving away anything about him. 

James had already shouldered into a leather holster looking thing, straps going across his chest and over his shoulder. The steel rings shone as he stood under the booth’s lone light. 

“One more thing.” James pulled a studded collar and chain out from his bag, reaching up and attaching it to Jeremy’s neck. It was leather, soft on his skin and so different from the PVC that made up the rest of what passed for an outfit. “If you have anything to say, say it now. No talking past here unless I ask you.”

Jeremy wasn’t sure he could speak, and worked his jaw beneath the hood, finding that it stretched more than he thought it would. James gave him one last look over, groaning when he saw the dark athletic socks tucked into trainers. James grabbed his bin and the lead and pulled Jeremy over to what normally would have been a coat check, both of them having their items locked away by a security guard. 

Jeremy could already hear the pounding beat through the walls, getting louder as they walked to the proper bit of the club. They passed through another curtain and the music bloomed, but a laugh came from somewhere to the right, followed by a sharp slap.

Then the visuals poured in under the harsh lighting. The sparse set up belied all of the naked flesh Jeremy saw. Leather and spikes and tattoos blended from person to person as the smoke filled the spaces inbetween. Red lights hung in corners, illuminating things that made Jeremy blink and stare. 

James tugged on his leash and pulled him to a leather sofa, pushing him to sit. “Stay.” James rubbed the top of his hood. “Good boy.” James curled the leash in his lap and left. Jeremy looked around frantically, losing James quickly in the sea of bodies. The woman on display in front of the small seating arrangement was being flogged, her soft moans drowned out by conversation from other nearby couches and the deep throb of the music.

“Good boy,” he heard again as James brought back two beers. He handed one over and bent to unzip Jeremy’s mouth. “Drink, but not too fast.” He picked up the leash again and Jeremy felt the slightest of pressures on his neck from the collar. James stood beside him, drinking a beer and watching the woman on display.

Too soon James zipped his mouth shut again and pulled on the leash. Jeremy had to abandon his beer as he was pulled around the room again, seeing things he hadn’t even seen on the internet. They stopped at some sort of thing made of 2x4s and railroad ties, James leaning down to kiss a man who was currently strapped to the lumber.

Jeremy’s eyes went round in his hood and James set a hand on the man’s chest and pulled on a nipple ring. The man arched into it as much as his bindings would allow. His gawking was interrupted by a woman in a leather thong who smacked James on the ass before grabbing onto his harness and pulling him around. Jeremy watched as her small breasts jostled, finding it much more entertaining than the man tied up behind them. 

She followed the lead and looked at Jeremy. “Don’t touch. He’s mine.” She baked off immediately much to Jeremy’s dismay. James kept a firm grip on the leash, pulling him to another site, this time another scantily clad woman against some sort of industrial looking ladder. Jeremy had to blink as she posed, showing off what looked like oversized stitches across her collarbone and at tiny other points along her body. He had a feeling they weren’t Halloween props.

James pushed him to sit on another couch, the pushy blonde from the other feature quickly sitting next to him and rubbing his hood. Jeremy flinched away, not knowing what to do on this planet. “Oh, no honeycakes.” She pushed him against the back of the sofa and all but climbed on his shoulders, throwing a leg over the back of the couch and pushing herself against Jeremy. 

‘Well, this is alright,’ Jeremy thought to himself. The hood prevented him from doing anything but rubbing against her and reaching up to grab her ass.

His collar pulled, the leash snapping under her bottom. James had flicked it like a whip and Jeremy wasn’t sure if it was in warning or as an encouragement.

The woman rubbed her hand over his hood once more before wandering away. James was now on his knees before sewed up woman, teeth gently pulling on one of the thicker red sutures. Another woman was kissing her and rubbing ice over her collarbones and the stitches that had initially caught Jeremy’s attention.


	30. “I’m with you, you know that.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BDSM in 29 & 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30 follows 29, please read 29 before proceeding to 30.

30 “I’m with you, you know that.”

James pulled him across the room again after seeing him sitting alone. It was quieter on this side, bathed in harsh red but still dark. James unzipped his mouth again when they were seated, leaning his sweaty body against Jeremy. “Are you ok?”

Jeremy nodded, overwhelmed and a bit lost. He motioned drinking a beer and James immediately knew what he meant. 

“Sure,” James agreed, handing him the leash end this time. “Stay.”

James went off to the bar and Jeremy watched the ebb and flow of people, fascinated by the wild life that lived just under the veneer of London.

James sat near him as they had their beer and a time out. If this was James’ normal Thursday he had a lot more questions to ask later.

“See anyone you want to fuck yet?”

Jeremy paused with the beer halfway to his lips. The aggressive blonde back there would be alright, but he didn’t feel comfortable with the anonymity of it all. 

“I’m assuming that’s why you wanted to come.”

Jeremy shrugged. It was hard to talk over the music and with the hood talking just didn’t seem appropriate. There was another crowd of people a bit further down the wall where Jeremy knew James would be taking him next. James followed his line of sight, holding the leash tighter. 

“No dark rooms tonight.” Jeremy tipped his head. “I’m with you, you know that.” James pointed even further down the club and Jeremy squinted against the darkness. “Bring your beer.”

Try as he might Jeremy couldn’t see into the dark room as they walked past. Maybe it was for the best. If James had said no, then...

James nudged him in the side. “Look at this.” There was a poor clone of Freddie Mercury stuck inside a pillory. Jeremy had thought they’d stopped making them in the 1800’s but apparently he’d been wrong. “Come around the side.” His collar tugged again and he tripped over his own feet. The man was being fucked by some sort of machine, a dildo attached to a piston and controlled by an motor further away. 

James reached into a small metal bowl near the controls. “Want to try it?” He held up a condom packet and Jeremy lost it. Jeremy backed up into the darkness and away from the fucking machine. He’d thought he’d seen everything, he’d been on the internet for years and watched every video at the adult cinema before that. James shuffled him off the club floor, away from the music and fog and naked bodies. 

It was cooler out here, quieter, with much less exposed flesh and spikes. Jeremy was again steered to a sofa and made to sit as James crouched down before him. “Too much?” 

Jeremy nodded again, somehow disappointed in himself. 

“Need to leave?”

He nodded again and started to reach for his hood.

James stopped him and quickly glanced around the room. “Leave it on until we change.” James led him to the coat check and collected their tubs, quickly finding an empty changing stall. Jeremy breathed as the hood came off, not realizing how much he was sweating.

Mostly dressed, James watched as Jeremy faltered with his bottoms, unable to slide the sticky vinyl down his damp skin. “Just put your jeans over them. Use baby powder or cornstarch at home and they’ll slide right off. “This is yours too.” James flipped the hood right side out and closed the mouth. 

James looked like the James he knew. Awkward but capable Captain Slow, not like the James who had just gotten out of his leather bondage harness and pulled on a stranger’s nipple ring. 

“Jeans, Jeremy.” James held out his clothes and encouraged him to get dressed. “Unless you want to go back in.”

Mutely he shook his head again. That had been enough for him, his curiosity about James’ personal time satisfied. When he was fully clothed, James dropped both arms on his shoulders before they left the privacy of the changing room. 

“Part of what the dom does in an arrangement is after care. If you have any issues, or need to talk about what you saw, let me know.” James gripped onto Jeremy, holding him steady. “I won’t laugh or mock you for it. It take a lot to jump headfirst into ... that.”

Jeremy felt about two inches tall and still confused by a lot of what he’d seen. “I’m fine,” he croaked out, voice a little rough from the rasp of his collar. James looked him in the eyes before nodding, pulling his arms away.

“Right then. Pub or straight home?”

Jeremy just wanted to go home. “Takeaway?”

James nodded and shoved all of their belongings back into his gym bag. “Nando’s alright?” Jeremy nodded again. “It’s nothing a few beers won’t fix.”


	31. “Scared, me?”

31 “Scared, me?”

“Scared, me?”

James raised an eyebrow at Jeremy’s innocuous expression. “You should be scared.”

“I’m not,” Jeremy reiterated to which James merely shrugged, going back to his morning coffee. The whole running a pub thing suited his temperament: late nights and later mornings, live music and an old fashioned fireplace, the central gathering place for this small slice of the Cotswolds but yet so quiet and private they would have thought they were alone on the planet.

He watched as Jeremy slowly walked away from the upstairs kitchen and back to the danger zone, as he called it, at least until Amelia came in to do the cleaning at 9am. He took one look at Jeremy’s fuzzy slippers and minutely shook his head. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Experience was a bitch of a teacher.

The bathroom door always made a sort of an odd squeak, a thunk at first as the wood unstuck, then more of a duck call as the layers and layers of ancient paint wore against each other.

James casually sipped on his coffee as Jeremy gagged then roared. “Hammooooooooooooooond!”

Just back from his trip filming some engineering project in Dubai, Richard had brought his traveler’s trots home with him. The filming hadn’t been long enough to clear his system, nor short enough to survive on his suitcase full of Heinz Beans.

The poor toilet suffered the direct assault and from the yelling it sounds like Jeremy’s slippers were now a secondary casualty. 

James was glad his youth of loud music and his middle years of loud cars had damaged his hearing. He missed most of Jeremy’s profanity laden tirade and was able to continue reading the news on his phone, safe in the knowledge that however bad it may be, it wasn’t his day to be ankle deep in Hammond’s malfunctioning colon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. Thanks for sticking with me. First time I've done a challenge like this and it was interesting.


End file.
